


Fling

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29086146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Follows the episode "Ain't Love Grand." Neither Charles nor Max excels at flings.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Fling

Hawkeye Pierce and BJ Hunnicutt had left the Officers’ Club under a mellow midnight moon. Now it belonged to Major Charles Emerson Winchester III and Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger. The former wore a disbelieving expression that even several drinks had done nothing to mollify. The latter looked only resigned. They had sung sad songs together and drank deeply, but now they were beginning to surface - and neither man wanted to go back to his cold bunk alone.

“You have not said ‘I told you so,’ Corporal,” said Winchester. “Pierce and Hunnicutt took their shots. Why should you not have yours?”

“Geesh, Major - you think I want to tangle with you? Didn’t you notice I’m not exactly at my best here?”

He had but had forgotten as alcohol and his own misery formed a haze across his synapses. “Wha-what happened to you, Max?”

Klinger rolled his eyes. So much for  **_co_ ** mmiserating! “I, uh, I wanted more than what was on offer.”

“As did I.” This was typical Winchester self-absorption, but he sounded so sad that Klinger cut him some slack. Besides, he’d watched Winchester’s not-quite-relationship wither over the past few days, his hopeless attempt to transform working girl Sooni into a true companion. Klinger could have told him that all the silkworms in the Orient working together couldn’t have spun the cocoon big enough for that kind of metamorphosis. But then what did he know? He’d fallen for a kind word and a smile and he didn’t know, now, how he was ever going to get back up.

“You just wanted someone to see the real you. To share the best parts of yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that, Major.”

This assessment was so deft and so novel that it sobered Winchester. “Thank you, Max.” It put everything in a new light. He wasn’t trying to  _ change _ the girl; he was trying to be more than a uniform or a profession... or worse, a billfold. “Is that... is that what happened to you?”

Klinger shook his head. “I... well, it might not be very manly to say so, but I... I guess I can’t,” he made an arching gesture, “fling.”

It made them both laugh, but then Charles said, “Nor can I. Pierce and Hunnicutt told me to just enjoy myself, to have fun...”

“But you wanted something true.”

“Yes. I will see your so-called ‘unmanly’ statement and raise you this one: I would rather go to bed alone than touch someone for which I had no feeling beyond a glimmer of attraction.”  _ And I will. Tonight and every other night in this awful place. _

“Exactly! I told Hawk about it once and he called it the, uh,” he tried to remember the wording, “the salt and pepper deficiency- having your body and your heart go together in a matched set.”

“And not being a fellow sufferer, I’m sure he felt sorry for you?” Winchester’s voice was wry.

“Yep, but I wouldn’t want to trade him places.”

“Nor would I. Funny, despite such diverse starting points, we’re quite a bit alike you and I.”  _ Down to even the precise timing of our suffering _ .

“Just catching on to that, huh? You probably don’t remember, but I tried to tell you that when you first got here. But I was just a lowly non-com,” he added in a teasing, sing-song tone.

Charles shoved him affectionately, almost dislodging him from the high bar chair. “Forgive me. I confess that your raiment startled me at first. I can be quite chilly when put off balance.”

This was rank understatement and there was a brief pause while he waited to see if Klinger would call him out on it. The Corporal smiled and let him have his interpretation even though they both knew better.

“Speaking of garments, thank you for the loan of the dress. Unfortunately it was a silk purse made from a sow’s ear situation... but that was scarcely the dress’s fault.”

“No problem.” Then, “You know she wasn’t good enough for you, right? You’ll find someone who will want to make themself look nice for you. Someone who will listen to music and poetry with you. You’ll see.”

_ Lies _ , thought Winchester,  _ but pretty ones _ . The Corporal was attempting, in this single exchange, to give him more comfort than Sooni ever had. How bitterly ironic! “Thank you. And you will find... forgive me - what exactly terminated things between you and your new friend?”

“I wanted a relationship. You know, wake up beside each other, make plans for life after this place. She just wanted a temporary distraction. And here’s the worst part - I think she was pretty clear about it. I just saw what I wanted to see.”

“I am sorry.” And he was. And, it turned out, a little angry, too. Who was this young woman that she could mistreat such a true heart? Did she not know what was being offered?

The next thought to cross his mind was mad... but this was a mad war/not-war in a mad place. It was an idea born mostly of booze... or maybe the alcohol just dissolved the barricade he usually would have thrown up against it.

Klinger shrugged, but the gesture hurt somehow - or it failed to hide how much  _ he _ was hurting. “I thought we were dating, you know? She just wanted me to fill time ‘til her next assignment.”

The mad idea took a surer shape.

“I guess it was stupid of me to expect more. To, uh, to want to mean something to someone.”

“No. Not stupid. You have a good heart, Maxwell.”

“Your word as a thoracic surgeon?”

It won him a smirk. “Nicely done.” He tossed back the remainder of a drink to fortify himself. “Max, may I propose a solution, albeit unconventional, to both of our woes?”

“Uh oh.”

“What?” Did he suspect? Would his idea fail to even get out of the gate?

“Your language is getting fancy again. That usually means you’re worried or upset.”

It wasn’t a tell Winchester had been aware of and no one else had pointed it out. Maybe his mad idea wasn’t so crazy after all; Maxwell already seemed to know him better than most. “I... I confess to some reservations.”

“Major, I’m too tired, hurt, and drunk to be bothered by much of anything. Lay it on me.”

Charles noticed how he buried hurt in the middle of his words, as if to whistle past it, feeling nothing even as he admitted all he felt. “You promise not to take offense?”

“I swear on every yard of taffeta I own.”

“Since we have proven alike in our attitude toward,” he stopped before he could stumble against the word ‘love,’ “relationships, perhaps we could enter into one.”

Klinger didn’t seem to be offended - but his eyes were huge. In a small voice he asked, “You want to date  _ me _ ?”

“Why not? As you said, we’re quite alike in some ways. I already borrowed your dress. It seems only right I should now borrow the body for which it was designed.” He hurried on to prevent any protest. “We can set it up so that no one gets hurt. I plan one date. You plan the next one. After that, either one of us can veto the whole thing.”

It smacked more of logic than romance, but romance hadn’t exactly done either one of them any good lately.

Freshly hurt, Klinger wasn’t eager to hurt again, so he deflected for all he was worth, flashing his teeth in a grin he didn’t feel inside at all. “You’re so much more drunk than I am, Major.”

“Perhaps. Is that your way of turning me down? I understand if it is.” It hurt less than he’d expected; maybe Pierce was right to swim so often in the clear waters he brewed inside of a still. He hoped a refusal wouldn’t mean a complicated song and dance whereby he was forced to ask Klinger to keep this newfound knowledge of him a secret.

Klinger cocked his head in a birdlike gesture of confusion. “Why would I go and do that?”

He hadn’t realized how much he had invested in this until Klinger spoke. “Then you will?”

“Sure.”  _ If you remember _ . He was looking hard at Winchester’s face, waiting to hear him take it back. In doing so, he noted, again, the strange color of his eyes. He’d noticed them in OR; the white mask made them stand out. But, in OR, that gaze was certain, assessing, steady. He couldn’t tell what he saw in them now.

“Then it’s a date. Saturday? Meet me at the motor pool.”

Klinger agreed but worried about the glassiness of Winchester’s eyes. “I’ll be there,” he told him.  _ But I won’t hold it against you if you’re not! _

_ *** _

_ How do you dress to date a superior officer?  _ Klinger wondered. 

A superior  _ male  _ officer at that? 

He thought of Winchester’s recent failed romance. Charles had attempted to make the girl into something delicate, demure. He could do delicate. 

Stripping down to nothing, he rummaged until he found butterfly-cut panties so fine they were difficult to put on without snagging them. Winchester wouldn’t see them, of course, but Klinger always felt better about full ensembles. The top part of his lingerie matched: russet and dove grey in a pattern of flowers. The skirt he chose was gossamer - a blue so deep it glinted. He paired it with a white blouse with black stirrup buckle clasps instead of buttons; these made it pop, elevating it without the addition of jewelry (none of his was fine enough for Boston gentry, so he settled for tiny copper hoops in his ears). His shoes were also coppery, with ribbons tied about his ankles in floppy bows. 

Usually a well put-together outfit cheered him, but he felt silly as he made his way toward the motor pool. What if Winchester laughed? What if he didn’t show? What if the Captains were behind the whole thing and it was all a joke? And why did he even  _ care _ ? It wasn’t like he’d actually had his sights set on Charles. He’d have had better luck propositioning MacArthur… or so he’d thought. 

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t noticed the man. He’d just been very off limits. Like the minefield. Maxwell knew it was there - was hyper conscious of it, in fact,- but he didn’t go near it. He’d been aware of the Major, too: of his height and his rare laugh, of his accent that did strange things to his knees, of his huge hands, bare of a wedding ring… but he knew better than to cross an educated, rich, high-ranking, fiendishly intelligent male surgeon just because his voice saying his name got him hot. He was from desert stock; a little heat he could handle. A dishonorable discharge? Not so much. 

“That is the precise expression that you wear, Max, when you go on sentry duty. If I frighten you as much as that, we should terminate this now.” 

Many things in this little speech tripped him up. How did the Major know what he looked like at the start of those shifts? Why did the word “terminate” make him so very cold? How was he supposed to answer? And why couldn’t Charles just have opened with something about his pretty shoes? Now he already felt defeated. 

But then he thought of the bar, the sadness Winchester wore as if it was familiar, as if it had been tailored for his tall frame, that sharp smile - cutting and humorless - those eyes moving over him, from his toes to the part in his hair. He could walk away from this, sure. But where would that leave Charles? It wasn’t as though the man had a great many confidantes; he held himself apart too much for that. If Max turned from him now…  _ I’m not that dumb girl, to push the best parts of you away just because I don’t understand them all the way through _ . But he wasn’t a liar, either. 

“I am a little scared,” he admitted, making himself look Charles in the face, even when the other man flinched. “You’re about the best friend I’ve got here, Major. Probably the best friend I’ve got period after what happened with Gus back home. So, I don’t wanna mess that up. But I still think we should go.” 

Feeling battered about by emotion - when had he auditioned for and apparently  _ won _ the role of best friend for this dolled up dear? - Charles still remembered his manners enough to open the door and help Max inside without endangering his skirt. “I have never seen those particular shoes,” he said, joining him and starting the engine. “New?”

Klinger nearly sparkled;  _ this _ he could handle. “Saving ‘em for something nice.”

Charles offered him a soft smile. “I am flattered to be thought worthy of them.” 

Klinger tilted his head. “Is that Winchester for you don’t think you’re nice?” 

“I, ah, I suppose.”

“What do  _ you _ think you are?”

“Are first dates not supposed to stick to certain, charted waters? Where are you from, for instance? What do you like to do when we aren’t being shelled?”

“I already know all that stuff. And you know I’m gonna keep asking, so c’mon.” 

“We cannot circumvent this and return to your shoes? Who is it that releases you from all of the bows and ties that make up your costumes, anyway?” 

“You don’t think  _ that’s _ too personal for a first date?” Max teased. “It used to be Radar. Now I figure it out on my own, mostly. Can’t trust Hawk, y’know, and Major Houlihan would tell me I deserve to be stuck. Father Mulcahy would blush.” He thought about telling the Major that  _ he  _ could do it next time, but Klinger didn’t want to put him on the spot. “You really aren’t gonna tell me why you think you’re not nice?” 

“There are a host of reasons. And, I suppose, if I am, ah, taking you under my care, as it were, I should declare them. Perhaps if I had done so previously, things would have ended sooner and more, ah, easily.” 

_ Ah, baby. You think I don’t know this trick? Say all the bad stuff first and fastest? Leave everybody else with nothing to say and pretend it didn’t hurt? Beat ‘em to the punch and ignore that it got  _ **_your_ ** _ knuckles bloody?  _

“No.”

“No?”

“Huh-uh. Shoes are definitely better than listening to you beat up on yourself, Major. And the rest of my stuff is cute, too.”

Winchester drove well, drove, in fact, as if he owned the road and the vehicle and maybe the nearby atmosphere. It made sense, born to privilege as he was, but it made Max think, too, of how life at the 4077th must vex him. He’d gone and fallen pretty far. And Pierce was head surgeon; that had to nettle. 

“Where are we going?”

“Not such where as  _ when _ . You will see shortly.” 

He did. 

“How’d you know?”

“It is called the golden hour. It happens twice every day, though most people sleep through the first and work through the last. Photographers know about it. I know you drive these roads all the time, but probably quickly given how busy you are and at the wrong times. What are you laughing about?”

“Getting above myself. It’s only the first date and you’re giving me gold.”

“It suits you, dear girl. Though I suppose that most shades do.” Just then a most interesting shade made an appearance in his cheeks. “Maxwell, was that a blush?” 

“I guess so.” 

Winchester made a face that Klinger recognized from its appearance in the lab or when a diagnosis grew tricky. “But not over the light?”

It wasn’t really a question so much as Charles showing off his deductive abilities. 

Klinger had never been the object of the man’s curiosity before and didn’t entirely mind it. He just shook his head. 

“Nor over the shades, as you know what you can bring off well enough.” Most of the camp had a favorite Klinger ensemble (except for the harsh, by-the-book few who disapproved). Shown a random piece of clothing, they could have successfully given it a thumbs up or thumbs down regarding its fit for their Corporal. 

“I did not realize you contained such depths of mystery, but that is, so I have heard, a woman’s prerogative.” 

Klinger tried to bite back a sharp sound… and was not fully successful. Charles looked sly. That sound had been very encouraging. It made him want to know what he could get away with. He wanted to push the skirt up just a little, an excuse to feel its caress, wanted to glimpse the strong, dark thigh under it. 

But he stopped himself when he thought of that girl. 

She had gone for Max because of the  _ look _ of him. Because something about the idea of him - the blend of familiar elements that resulted in something quite new - proved so very exciting, intoxicating. And Winchester knew she wasn’t the only one who felt it. He’d seen Maxwell spin out of reach of grasping hands before. He would not make this pretty, young thing into an object as others had. 

Parking the jeep beneath two trees whose branches were weighted as much with light as with leaves, he took in the sight of Maxwell’s open face, his lips parted just a little, radiance scattered over him as drifted-down leaves were scattered over the hood that covered the cooling engine. Charles held out his hand. 

Max took it. 

He wasn’t ready to lay his dark head on the Major’s shoulder, but he grew calm at his touch. Together, they watched the light change. 

***

The date that Klinger planned in response to their drive through mingled shadow and light was a cozy and quiet one. He hoped the Major wouldn’t mind; the man had surely known from the start that he outpaced the Corporal in education and monetary advantages, right? 

_ You started this, sir,  _ Klinger thought.  _ So you must think I’m okay, at least.  _

He had to be a step up from Sooni, didn’t he? He wasn’t a working girl, anyway. That had to count for  _ something _ . And there was that little moment at the end of their last date.

Charles had kissed him.

Charles had  _ asked  _ to kiss him. 

And in the middle of the kiss, Klinger had developed an irrational hatred for anyone else Winchester had ever embraced this way, because the man had a wonderful mouth. It didn’t seem possible, given the cutting insults that often issued from it. 

Charles appeared late and Max kept the lanterns low; the last thing he wanted was Charles taking grief from one of the Captains. “Hiya, Major.” 

“Maxwell. You look lovely.”

“You don’t mind stayin’ in, do you?” 

“With you to gaze upon, I require no scenery. What do you wish to do with our time together?” 

“I thought you could maybe tell me about the stuff you like - like what it’s like to go to a symphony. I, uh, I like to listen to you talk.” He ducked his head, shy. “And if you get sick of talking, maybe you wanna kiss me some more?” 

Charles smiled and spoke of his symphony nights, of the costumes (he knew Max would like that), of his favorite pieces. Max asked good questions, too - and he genuinely seemed to enjoy seeing Charles happy. Halfway through an amusing story of Charles drinking too much and serenading a  _ very _ uninterested debutante, Max made tea in mismatched mugs and shared out his meager treats. 

“Those are even better shoes. I, ah, I like how the ribbons go up your legs.” 

Max stretched a leg out. “I always wanted somebody to kiss in between ‘em.” 

Charles knelt and did just that. Klinger slipped an ankle over his shoulder without realizing he was doing so. “Mmm, do be careful, darling. If your skirt rises but an inch more, my view will get very revealing, indeed. Improper for a second date, I believe.” 

“So marry me and make it proper.” He panted. “I’m wearing great stuff, Major.” 

“But you will make new for our honeymoon?”

“Definitely.”

But Charles smoothed the skirt over his lap. “I want to earn you, Max. To win you. We have not even decided if we should carry on after this date.”

“I made up my mind real quick, Major baby.” 

“When?” 

“When you kissed me the first time.” 

“We began this on a lark, Maxwell!” 

“Yeah, sure. But I wouldn’t’ve said yes if I didn’t already like you. Do you still like me okay?” 

“My mouth was on the back of your knee, pet.” 

“It all sort of ran together. Show me again?” 

“You are ever the pretty schemer.” 

“I’m glad you think I’m pretty.” 

Charles laughed. “Oh, yes. Very. Come here.” 

But when Max went to him, he was embraced gently. Almost no one ever touched him in Korea anyway… but Max felt sure that no one had ever touched him like this. They moved together, like dancers who had rehearsed, and Charles folded his legs to fit in the cot - but also to shelter the man beside him. 

“No one’s ever done this,” Max blurted out, hand coming up to trace the curve of a patrician cheekbone. “Held me like I meant somethin’.” 

“I regret that you have known so little care,” Charles said, stroking the dark fall of his hair back from one eye. “They were foolish, whoever they were. Yet, I am glad, too, in a selfish sort of way.” His hand moved to his back, stroking, adoring him through touch. 

“Whaddaya mean?” 

“Max, if I had to fight for you, I doubt I possess the beauty or the charm to win you. But, since you have honored me with allowing this,” he gestured to the two of them, “I shall be the very best for you. Care for you in every way. And, having held you for only a few moments together, I can already pledge that I shall  _ never _ let you go.” 

“How can you know that?” 

“You know it, too, pet. You feel it as I do.”

“That you could never be a fling,” he whispered, stroking his face again because he could scarcely believe it was allowed. 

“No. Not for you. So, what do you say, darling? May I hold you and kiss you until the dawn?”

“What happens at dawn?” 

“We will have finished our two ‘first’ dates by then - and I can set out to try to keep you forever.” 

Max held him tighter. “Something true?” he asked against his lips. 

“Yes. If you think that even the best parts of me might be worthy enough?” It was said teasingly, but Max knew there was worry behind it. 

_ More than I deserve _ . “I’d love to go to the symphony with you. And museums. Libraries. You can teach me all the stuff that makes you look so soft and happy- and I’ll love it ‘cause of you.”

“And you will take me to Toledo? To, ah,”

Max rescued him. “Eat hot dogs and watch baseball and meet a million cousins? Sure thing. Bet you’re gorgeous in blue jeans.”

“I confess that I do not know - but if they will do  _ that  _ to your eyes…” 

“My eyes always look like this around you. You know you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, don’tcha?” 

“I cannot say I knew, no.”

“Now you do. You showin’ up here… it was like an actor stepping out of the screen. I, uh,” he dipped his head, shy. “I used ta joke with Radar that it felt like I dreamed you up, sometimes. How perfect you are. He’d ask me why I’d go and dream up somethin’ I could never have. Somethin’ beautiful and out of reach like a star.” 

Charles pulled him close and Max burrowed into his chest. “I am right here. And if you will make a star of me, my dear, please make it a  _ wishing _ star. I would very much like to grant you all you want, all you need.” 

“Can’t imagine needin’ anything nicer than this, Major baby,” he said, happily surveying the gentle tangle they comprised. 

And Charles smiled and held on and quietly wished happiness on those two young women who had been so wrong for them. Without them, he might never have had this gentle peace. Later, Maxwell revealed that his thoughts had moved in similar circles when he said, “Maybe we  _ are _ good at flings, Major baby.”

“I assume you say so because we have made a pleasant mess of these covers?”  _ And because your pretty mouth is bright from the press of my lips?  _

“It is nice. Being warm and safe with you.”

“Does that not rather fly in the face of the definition of ‘fling?’”

“No. We’re just good at a different kind of ‘em. A forever kind.”

Charmed, Charles laughed - and promised that their “forever” sort of fling would last the war - and after. 

End! 

  
  
  
  



End file.
